Take (It) Away

“What do you fancy on Tuesday? We could get fish and chips,” she suggested.

Valentine’s night, arriving after (largely) virtuous weeks of salads and vegetables since the overindulgence of Christmas, heralded a treat of forbidden carbs and fried foods. In a landscape of galloping inflation, they had opted to dine in.

Himself considered... “What about an Indian takeaway? We won’t even have to leave the house for that - since Covid they deliver out here.”

Himself went on. “A global pandemic causing devastation in the lives of families everywhere. Lockdowns that affected the mental health of many and altered the working practices of companies and institutions. A disease that cost the UK hundreds of billions of pounds and… delivered tikka masala to our doorstep.”

“It’s an ill wind – as my mother would have said,” she commented wryly as she looked at an on-line takeaway menu.

“Looks like their prices have gone up,” she observed. “Well, how about chicken in a bucket, then. Bargain.”

“Ditto – inflation has hit the humble drumstick and spud I’m afraid. And do you know, it’s nothing that I can’t cook, at a fraction of the price too.” She announced with confidence. “Pretty sure I can find the secret recipe containing eleven herbs and spices somewhere on the net.”

“But Darling, the point of a take-away is that you don’t have to cook. We haven’t had Chinese food for a while. Perhaps we could splash out on one of those. Sweet and sour crispy chicken balls and some ribs shouldn’t be too expensive. And they deliver. If you like, you could cook the rice – that would save some money.”

“Rice?” she announced, incredulously. “I can do better than that! I can cook a whole Chinese meal – no problemo..”

“Are you sure? What about specialist ingredients?” He looked dubious.

“Remember the great liquid glucose hunt of 1990?” Himself gave her an appraising look. “We scoured the South of England for the vital ingredient of Delia Smith’s chocolate truffle torte – to no avail. As I recall, you made a chocolate mousse instead for the dinner party. Was delicious.”

“As I recall, you found me in the kitchen fuming over soft peak egg whites and banging on about showstoppers.” She blushed at the memory.

“Yes, well you were a bit intense and focused about your cooking in those days, Darling.” Himself said kindly.

“And apparently nothing has changed,” she murmured, “because I’m going to produce the best Chinese meal. Ever.” The bit between her teeth, she again consulted the interweb.

“What we have now,” she said as she jabbed and swiped her phone, “that we didn’t in 1990, is one’s heart’s desire courtesy of a search engine.”

Over the next few days deliveries appeared.

“Another for you darling,” Himself dropped a package into her lap. A corner cupboard and the fridge were filling up with exotic bits and pieces and when the day arrived, she used them all. Grinding, whisking, stirring, chopping. Sesame oil and fish sauce. Ginger, star anise and Sichuan peppercorns. Spring onions, straw mushrooms and rice wine vinegar. Ribs, prawns and chicken – mange tout and water chestnuts. Bamboo shoots and beansprouts. Every inch of the work surfaces was covered and every utensil utilised.

“Been burgled by the cast and crew of masterchef?” Himself exclaimed as she raised her hot, flushed face from feverishly frying spring rolls.

“I know,” she said tiredly. “I had no idea how much work was involved producing a set meal for two. But it’s nearly ready. Just the prawn crackers left to do..”

Presently they sat down at a table groaning with all of their favourites and Himself tucked in. “It’s nice. Not quite the same, but.. nice...” Lukewarm praise, she thought, but secretly agreed. “Was it much cheaper than a takeaway?” He asked, hesitantly. She looked furtive and sipped her drink. “Um I think it will be. You know. In the long run.” Her eyes darted guiltily about the room. “When I’ve made a few more meals and used up all the spices and sauces. There seems to be a lot of pak choi and baby sweetcorn left in the fridge. And duck – I had to buy a whole one for the crispy duck pancakes. Plus a new wok of course..” She trailed off and slumped in her chair, picking unenthusiastically at her egg fried rice.

“Darling,” Himself asked “aren’t you very hungry?”

“I’ve been cooking all day and I’m sick of the sight and smell of it!” she announced wearily.

Himself laughed. “No problemo. Let me just… take it away!” He rose and removed her plate, scraping the food onto his own. Wielding chopsticks with one hand he scrolled his phone with the thumb on his other. “There. I’ve ordered you fish and chips. Apparently since Covid they deliver that out here too...”

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